


How Do You Say You're Sorry and There's Nothing to Be Afraid Of?

by the_genderman



Series: Various collected A/B/O fics, potentially all unrelated to each other [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alpha Steve Rogers, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Consequences, Dubious Consent, Extremely Dubious Consent, Identity Porn, M/M, Maskfic, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mpreg, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Omega Bucky Barnes, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, but i'm serious consent is super important, read the tags heed the tags, they just don't do a very good job of it in this fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-20
Updated: 2018-07-20
Packaged: 2019-06-13 06:06:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15357903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_genderman/pseuds/the_genderman
Summary: Bucky’s alive. Steve barely has time to come to grips with this before everything goes very, very wrong, and then Bucky’s gone again to parts unknown. Fast forward and what happens when Bucky comes back and shakes Steve’s world up yet again?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If you like this fic, that’s great, I hope you do, but given how normally freaked out by pregnancy and babies and everything surrounding them that I am, there will almost certainly not be any kind of sequel. (Like, seriously. Don’t ever hand me a baby, it will _not_ end well.) Also, I cannot emphasize too much the importance of consent. Enthusiastic consent, even. Just because you are in/have been in a relationship with someone, just because you like someone, doesn’t mean you’re always up for sex. The consent in this fic is extremely dubious, if not lacking entirely. I am well aware that this is not a good situation and neither of them is really able to consent to sex. But it happens and they both have to face the music/come to terms with it.
> 
> A/B/O canon divergence where HYDRA did not infiltrate S.H.I.E.L.D. but they’re still around trying to destabilize stuff, lots of things are slightly different, and the Winter Soldier was not unmasked prior to being captured and taken into S.H.I.E.L.D. custody. Steve came out of the ice before the events of Iron Man 1, and instead of joining the Avengers (who don’t exist yet), he joins S.H.I.E.L.D. not as Captain America, but just as himself. 
> 
> Title is a line from the Fever Ray song “I’m Not Done.”

“You think that containment room will hold him?” Steve asks, watching as the sedated but somehow still combative prisoner is hustled into a glass-walled room deep in the sub-basements of Stark Tower.

“I use that room as a proving ground for my suits, it’ll hold,” Tony replies confidently.

The past few weeks had been chock full of rumors, possible sightings of a Cold War ghost haunting Manhattan, and covert S.H.I.E.L.D. operations related to said ghost. All highly classified and almost certainly related to Tony Stark’s very public reveal that he was, in fact, Iron Man. S.H.I.E.L.D. had been called in to act as a protective detail until the threat could be neutralized. Which meant that Tony immediately put forth a plan in which he would act as bait and lure the assassin in so he could be captured and brought to justice, and then went ahead with the plan without official S.H.I.E.L.D. approval. The plan, somehow, worked perfectly. Tony was alive, the Winter Soldier had been apprehended (also alive), and S.H.I.E.L.D. had their best chance in decades to figure out how to root out the remaining HYDRA pockets that persisted like black mold beneath the surface of society.

Assuming they could get the Soldier to talk to them. So far he had been deathly silent. Aware and reactive even while under sedation, but utterly uninclined to speak and answer the questions put to him. Or even to remove the goggles and mask (although, some of the agents thought it looked more like a muzzle) he was wearing. They had successfully disarmed the Soldier of his numerous guns and knives, but the mask and goggles were proving far trickier, for some reason. One attempt had been made to remove the goggles; the unfortunate agent was currently being treated for a compound fracture of his right arm. No further attempts had been made, but S.H.I.E.L.D. was not unfamiliar with dealing with recalcitrant prisoners. They’d figure something out. If nothing else, he’d have to remove the mask in order to eat.

The Winter Soldier is settled onto the cot in the cell and the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents beat a hasty retreat. Steve, Tony, Natasha, and Clint watch through the glass. Steve gives a sniff, looking like he’s trying to identify an unfamiliar odor.

“Do you smell that?” he asks.

“It’s July in Manhattan. I smell many things,” Clint replies.

“You’re probably smelling someone’s fear sweat,” Natasha says, always pragmatic. “This guy scares _me_ a little. I’ve seen what he can do firsthand.”

“I don’t think it is, but I can’t quite place it…” Steve continues.

“Eh, don’t worry about it,” Clint says with a casual wave-off. “If it’s important, it’ll come to you later when you least expect.”

Steve takes another look at the prisoner, sitting calmly now that he’s alone and locked in, then turns to leave. Whatever’s bugging him, it can wait. It’s getting late and he’s still got a debriefing to attend.

\-----------------------

There’s another briefing first thing the next morning and Steve’s barely gotten his coffee poured out before Stark Tower’s resident AI very politely interrupts the meeting-to-be with a message that the Winter Soldier has broken out of containment, attempts at recontainment have been unsuccessful, he has attacked a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent and taken him hostage, and could Agents Rogers, Romanoff, and Barton please proceed to the 10th sub-basement.

“I’m coming with you,” Tony announces. 

“We should consider evacuating the floor and attempting to sedate the Winter Soldier, first,” Steve says. “Does your facility have any kind of air-based tranquilizer delivery system?” Steve asks Tony.

“What? No, we’re into research, not super-criminal containment. I don’t know what S.H.I.E.L.D. has going on, but that’s not our thing here at Stark Industries.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing like what you’re thinking about, but I could always go down there and blast our Terminator a little. I could probably get my suit calibrated to stun him. JARVIS? My suit, please.”

Steve’s about to say no, but he supposes an armored extra body can’t hurt. “Alright, meet us down there,” he tells Tony. If the prisoner managed to break out of the room Tony declared un-break-out-able, and the agents already on the floor couldn’t get him recontained, then they could use all the assistance they could get. 

Coffee abandoned, Steve grabs his, Natasha’s, and Clint’s accoutrements out of the meeting room closet. He passes them out, pops in his earpiece so he can have a direct line to JARVIS without the AI’s responses being overheard by the Soldier, and he’s on his way down as fast as he can. He’s got his shield at the ready—he may not officially be Captain America anymore, but the shield’s still come in very handy in his current job. He barrels down the empty stairwell until he reaches the 10th sub-basement. He asks JARVIS for a status update.

“All other persons on the floor have been evacuated and the floor locked down,” JARVIS replies, ever calm. “The Soldier has not hurt Agent Figueroa, but he has not made any demands.”

“Has the Soldier spoken at all?” Steve asks, waiting at the stairwell door. He can hear Tony’s suit’s repulsors whining as he begins the descent and the faint sound of approaching boots on the stairs. His backup is arriving. He prepares to enter the floor.

“The Soldier has not spoken since entering the building,” JARVIS responds.

“I’m going to talk to him, see if I can get him to tell me what he wants. He must want something.” With that, Steve raises his shield, opens the door, and steps through. 

The floor is quiet, silent red alarm lights winking on and off along the ceiling. Steve scans the hallway, not immediately seeing the Soldier or Agent Figueroa. Keeping alert, he continues down the hallway to the improvised holding cell. When he gets there, he sees bullet pocks in the glass of the cell, shots taken from the hallway. The cell door has been pulled shut and twisted just enough to make it difficult to slide open again. The Winter Soldier is back inside the cell, kneeling over Agent Figueroa’s chest, practically sitting on him. The Soldier, wary of Steve’s approach, glares at him. His eyes are hidden, but the distrust radiates from his body language. His metal fist grips the collar of Agent Figueroa’s shirt even tighter. Agent Figueroa pleads silently with Steve to do something, anything, just get this guy off me.

“JARVIS? Are they able to hear me from in there?” Steve asks.

“Communications are undamaged.”

“Good. Agent Figueroa? I’m going to get you out of there. Soldier? I don’t want to hurt you, I just want my colleague back,” Steve says, approaching the door. The Soldier’s head turns slowly, following his approach. Steve can’t see his eyes or expression under the goggles and mask, but his body language is still wary.

“Do you want me to call you Soldier? Do you have a preferred name or title?” Steve continues. He hears the Iron Man suit approaching from behind him and he holds up his hand, asking Tony to hang back.

“I thought you didn’t negotiate with assassins, or something like that?” Tony asks.

“My job is to get Agent Figueroa out of there safely,” Steve answers. “I’m starting by talking to the Soldier, hoping to get him to back down. My preference is to deescalate without any more violence.”

“Yeah, alright, that’s fair,” Tony replies.

Steve turns his attention back to the hostage situation. “Soldier? I’m going to open the door, ok? I’m just going to open the door so Agent Figueroa can get out, ok? He can’t stay in there.” He flips his shield onto its harness on his back, approaches the door slowly, and slips his fingers through the crack onto the edge of the door. When the Soldier doesn’t move, he leans into it, wrestling the warped door open enough to allow a person to pass through.

As soon as he gets the door open, the scent hits him. It’s faint, but unmistakable. Heat pheromones. Steve takes a half step back. Agent Figueroa’s unmistakably an alpha, which was why they sent him down to talk to the Soldier—they wanted an interrogator who could speak gently to the prisoner, but who also might not be intimidated by the Soldier and his history. The only other person who’s been in the room today is the Soldier. Could he be an _omega_?

“JARVIS, please read vitals,” Steve requests. Natasha and Clint arrive, coming to a stop behind Steve.

“Yes, we’ve been hearing what you and JARVIS have been discussing,” Natasha answers Steve’s question before he has a chance to ask it. “We’re up to speed.”

A moment passes and JARVIS responds. “Agent Figueroa is distressed but physically uninjured. The Winter Soldier’s body temperature, heartrate, and hormones are elevated from the baseline of yesterday evening. It appears he is in heat.”

“Wait, really?” Clint says. “Is that what you thought you were smelling last night?”

“Probably was,” Steve replies to Clint. “How did we miss that?” Steve adds, out loud, but primarily to himself. He had been the one leading the operation, and he had missed a rather important detail.

“His scent glands appear to have been surgically removed,” JARVIS answers. “It would be easy to miss an absence of a scent if one was not anticipating it.”

That… actually made a lot of sense. If you couldn’t smell an assassin coming, he certainly would have an advantage. And the heat smell Steve was picking up? It was much fainter at a distance because of the lack of scent glands, but pheromones were also released in an omega’s slick. 

Steve began running through different scenarios in his head. He had to get Agent Figueroa out of there, first and foremost, and even more vitally now that he knew the Soldier was in heat. With fewer sources of pheromones, it would take longer to push the alpha into rut, but how long had Agent Figueroa been confined in the room with the Soldier? How long had the Solider been sitting on him? Steve had an idea of how to get him out. It was a _bad_ idea, but it might just work without anyone getting too badly hurt.

“Steve, you’ve got that look on your face. What are you planning?” Natasha asks, edging closer to the room.

Steve raises his hand again to ask her to hang back. “You’re probably not going to like this, but I think it could work. Tony, be ready to move if the Soldier gets aggressive, but please don’t do anything unless that happens. Natasha and Clint, be ready to get Agent Figueroa, and you and Tony get him out of here and up to medical. I’m going to offer myself as a trade.”

“Ok, yes, that’s a terrible idea,” Natasha replies in a whisper, hoping the Soldier can’t hear her. “Trade one alpha for another to a mysterious HYDRA assassin who currently wants little more than to get fucked. Great idea.”

“The way I see it, yes, an alpha for an alpha,” Steve replies in kind. “He and I are just about equals in strength, so I should be able to hold him off until the heat passes. At which point, he’ll be too tired to do much, and we can implement whatever containment and interrogation plan you come up with while I’m keeping him distracted.”

“I know you’re not stupid, Steve. What happens when you go into rut? If you plan to spend his entire heat in there with him, it’s _going_ to happen to you.”

“It’s _possible_ , but unlikely. I’m Valdemar-negative. My pheromone receptors are different enough that, unless I’m unlucky enough that he and I are compatible, I can’t be pushed into rut, and I’m not due for another two and a half months. It’s the safest option I can think of right now, and we need to get Agent Figueroa out of there as soon as possible.”

Natasha takes a deep breath, pauses, and sighs. “Ok,” she says out loud again. “Ok. We can try your plan. As soon as you’re in there and the rest of us are off the floor, we’re locking down all the exits until JARVIS confirms that his heat is over, if you call for assistance, or if your vitals show significant distress or injury. We’re going to assume that you can take care of yourself. I still hate this plan, but I’m going to trust you.”

“Clint?”

“Sure, ok, if you think you can handle it.”

“Tony?”

“And people say _I’m_ reckless.”

“Ok, so that’s settled,” Steve says. He gives his shield to Natasha and raises his hands to show the Soldier that he’s unarmed. “Soldier? I’m going to come in there. I’m not going to hurt you. I want to trade myself for Agent Figueroa. Can you do that?”

Steve steps cautiously into the room.

The Winter Soldier rises to his feet, dragging Agent Figueroa up with him, and steps closer to Steve. Steve hears the whuf of breath behind the mask as the Soldier inhales deeply, scenting him. Measuring him against the alpha he already has. A moment of hesitation and he releases Agent Figueroa. In the blink of an eye, the Soldier’s metal fist is wrapped around Steve’s shield harness straps and he’s dragging Steve deeper into the room. 

Agent Figueroa makes a break for the door and Natasha and Clint hustle him towards the stairwell. Tony takes up the rear, protecting them. As the four of them reach the stairwell door, Tony flips his facemask up, shakes his head at Steve, and says a parting “Good luck” before they disappear into the stairwell and the door clicks shut and locked behind them.

Steve is alone with the Soldier now. His only job is to survive until the heat has passed. He can handle it, no problem.

Right?

The Soldier releases his grip on Steve and circles him, interested but wary. Steve stands still, moving only his head, watching the Soldier as he stalks around him. Completing his circuit, the Soldier darts over to the door and wrenches it closed again, as if he’s afraid he’s going to lose his new prize, as well. 

Maintaining line of sight, Steve walks over to the cot and flips it back right side up. He resettles the thin mattress and sits down to try to wait things out. The Soldier walks over and squats down, elbows on knees, hands dangling between his legs. He looks up at Steve. Steve can tell he’s being watched, he gets that little prickle on the back of his neck, but he can’t see the Soldier’s eyes or expression.

“Can I remove your mask?” Steve asks, reaching out slowly, telegraphing his movement.

The Soldier’s hand shoots up and grasps him around the wrist, squeezing hard enough that Steve can feel the bones grinding. The Soldier pulls Steve’s hand closer to him, pushes the cuff of his sleeve up to expose the scent gland on his wrist, and leans in to smell him. Steve thinks he can hear him whining softly. Just as abruptly, the Soldier releases Steve’s wrist and rises to his feet and begins to pace. His natural hand rises to the mask, but he makes no move to remove it.

Steve watches the Soldier pace and tries to unravel this ghost story. He’s enhanced, that much is clear. He’s got a metal arm, he’s got fifty years of kills to his name, but he doesn’t look like he could be older than thirty. He acts so differently from any other HYDRA agents Steve has ever encountered, either during the war or in his time with S.H.I.E.L.D. He’s silent, he doesn’t go off about ‘Hail HYDRA’ or any similar bloviating. He’s also still alive. He fought back, he resisted capture, but when it was clear there wasn’t going to be any easy escape, he didn’t suicide like nearly every other HYDRA agent tended to do. He’s refused to remove the mask and goggles or to let anyone else do so, either. He’s different, but how? And why?

The Soldier stops pacing and turns back to Steve. Steve rises to his feet. There’s a new intensity in the Soldier’s body language, and in this situation, it can mean only one thing. Steve braces himself. 

In the next breath, the Soldier is in front of him, pressing his body into Steve. Steve can feel the Soldier’s breath against his neck through the vents in the mask, he’s so close. Steve closes his eyes. The Soldier’s fingers go to Steve’s belt. Steve gently but firmly removes them. The Soldier pulls back. There’s a brief shuffle of fabric and suddenly the heat smell is stronger. Steve opens his eyes.

The Soldier has removed his boots and pants remarkably quickly and stands naked from the waist down. He’s clearly aroused and in the bright fluorescent light, Steve can catch glints of slick on his thighs. The Soldier’s hands hang at his sides, twitching slightly and ready to move. 

Steve shakes his head. “No, I can’t. It wouldn’t be right. You’re not in full control of yourself.” 

Steve’s not an omega, he’s never had the heat experience, but he hadn’t thought it would make the Soldier quite this aggressive and single-minded. Heats and ruts were intense, but not irresistible—what a mess the world would be if that were the case—so maybe the Soldier would eventually get tired of trying to come onto an uninterested alpha. The Soldier growls at him, possibly angry that he traded a scared alpha for an uncooperative one. He begins pacing again. Steve sits back down on the floor to watch, leaning back against the wall, and opting to leave the cot available for the Soldier if he chooses.

\-----------

The Soldier paces slowly for a little over two hours before he tries again. Maybe he hoped that Steve would be lulled into a false sense of security, because suddenly he’s right there on top of Steve, knocking him down onto his back on the floor, head right up against the wall. Steve struggles as the Soldier kneels over his chest, legs pinning his upper arms to his sides, hands on his shield harness straps. From his position down on the floor, he’s got a very clear view of the Soldier’s thighs and genitals. The Soldier’s labia and clitoris are suffused with blood, a visual evolutionary message telling the alphas that he is ready to mate. Steve averts his eyes, trying not to stare, but he can’t turn away from the scent of the Soldier’s slick. The pheromones, while weaker than if he had intact scent glands, are still strong in Steve’s nose. He feels the beginning of a tingle at the base of his spine.

 _No. This_ can’t _be_.

Steve begins to struggle harder, feet scrabbling for purchase on the tile floor, a twinge of fear in the back of his mind. His condition should make this nearly impossible. He had only ever met one omega who he’d been compatible with for sure, and that was Bucky. The odds that the Winter Soldier would be compatible with him had to be astronomically small; so small that he had felt confident enough in his decision to trade himself for Agent Figueroa. 

Should he call Natasha and Clint to let them know about this development? Could they manage to extract him without anyone getting hurt? If they tried to extract him now, would _he_ hurt them? Ever since that first, near-disastrous post-serum rut, he’d taken to locking himself away so he couldn’t hurt anyone. Being a Valdemar-negative alpha meant he couldn’t be pushed into rut except by a compatible omega, but it also meant that his natural ruts were stronger, more intense, and could, with exposure, trigger a heat in an omega. This certainly was a catch-22 he found himself in. Either call for help and risk hurting his friends and colleagues, or stay here and lose himself to the approaching rut with an enemy agent, with neither of them in their right mind.

Both situations were bad. 

The Soldier, still kneeling over Steve, leans down and scents him. The Soldier makes a pleased noise and sits back, rubbing his ass against Steve’s clothed crotch, trying to get a reaction out of him. He must have picked up the scent of his pre-rut. 

Steve feels his cock beginning to throb and swell. This situation is going very wrong, very quickly. His earpiece crackles to life. It’s Natasha.

“Steve, what the hell is happening down there? JARVIS has been monitoring your vitals and I thought you said this wouldn’t happen,” Natasha asks, concern and annoyance mingling in her tone.

“Yeah, funny thing, I didn’t think so either,” Steve replies, unable to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.

“Not funny. We’re coming down to get you,” Natasha declares.

“No, you can’t, it’s too dangerous!” Steve insists. “I can’t be around you or Tony or any other omegas right now. I could hurt any one of you.”

“There are medications for that now, Steve. We can reverse a rut if we catch it early enough.”

“Have JARVIS explain my condition to you if you need, but you can’t come down here. I know it’s a bad situation, I’d much prefer not go into rut around a compromised omega, but I don’t want to bring you into this, either.”

The Soldier, still kneeling over Steve, looks around to see who he’s talking to. He notices the earpiece and moves to pull it out. This gives Steve just enough freedom of movement to roll and knock the Soldier off balance. He scrambles out from underneath him and gets back to his feet, backing away from the wall. He’s more exposed in the center of the room, but he can’t be pinned as easily without a wall directly behind him. The Soldier rises to his feet as well, a new sense of anger and determination in his body language.

After a couple minutes of intense stare-down, Natasha’s voice is back in his earpiece. “You’re fully aware of what you’re doing?”

“I am.”

“And you’re aware of how much trouble you’re going to be in when this is over?”

“I am. But I also know I’ll be in the same trouble, if not worse, and feel a _lot_ guiltier if I bring you or anyone else from S.H.I.E.L.D. or Stark Industries into this mess, too. I’m ready to accept whatever punishment Director Fury sees fit to hand down. I made a call, I thought it was the right call given the circumstances, and I was wrong.” Steve tries to keep his voice calm for the benefit of those listening in, but he’s sure his vitals are betraying him. JARVIS seems like a pretty smart program, very perceptive and considerate; maybe he won’t tell Natasha and Clint and Tony just how nervous (and horny) Steve actually is.

“It’s your call,” Natasha replies. “I do not envy your position.”

“Leave me down here. I know it sounds callous, but better him than you, and I’ll face the consequences when this is over.”

With that, Natasha signals the end of the conversation, and Steve turns his full attention back to the Winter Soldier. How long was this going to play out? Would he be able to resist his rut? He’d never really tried before. Either he’d been too sick to have more than a weak induced rut that Bucky would help him through, or he’d sequestered himself and ridden it out alone. He’d certainly never tried to do so in the face of a _very_ aggressively horny omega.

And _why_ was the Soldier so single-mindedly horny? According to Natasha, the Red Room omegas had been trained in manipulating their pheromones to their advantage, but they had also been sterilized so they couldn’t go into true heat on their own anymore. _This_ omega was in full heat and either utterly out of control of his own mind, or else singularly focused on a new objective. Both options were troubling. Steve closes his eyes for a brief moment to try to focus and _not_ think with his cock.

The Soldier must have seen it as a moment of weakness or acceptance of the situation, because before Steve can open his eyes again, he’s being tackled to the ground. His head cracks against the tile, stunning him. The Soldier rips the earpiece out and crushes it between his thumb and first finger. While Steve is still dazed, the Soldier scents him again, pressing the mask up against his neck. He can feel the rough texture against his skin. He tries to push the Soldier off before he can do anything else, but he’s too fast. His hands are on Steve’s pants, fumbling the button open and yanking the zipper apart. He gets his hand into Steve’s briefs before Steve recovers himself, shoves him off, and stands back up.

“Can we _please_ not do this?” Steve asks, not really expecting an answer, but just to get the sentiment out there. He re-buttons his pants, but the zipper is trashed. He hopes the button will hold.

The Soldier says nothing. He rolls back onto his feet and he and Steve begin to slowly circle each other. The Soldier charges again and Steve dodges, but as he does, the Soldier’s arm shoots out and grabs the waist of his pants and throws him off balance again. Steve falls and the Soldier tugs his pants down around his ankles, tangling them up with his boots before he can react. The Soldier straddles his stomach, pushing him down onto the floor again. Steve’s a little hazy now. He’s pretty sure he should get the half-naked assassin off of him, but there’s a little part of him, growing louder, that thinks this isn’t as bad as he’s making it out to be. He knows he’s an enemy agent, but the Soldier _does_ smell quite inviting. 

Steve shakes his head, trying to clear some of the static. _No_. He shouldn’t fall into that trap. He tries to get the Soldier off him again. Shoving at his chest, trying to dislodge him, but the Soldier’s solid on top of him, refusing to budge. Steve attempts to roll again, but the Soldier anticipates it and pins him. He reaches up and grabs for the Soldier’s face, hoping that if he gets his hand over the mask, maybe he’ll cut off just enough airflow to throw the Soldier off balance so he can get out from under him and try to focus past his hormones. He gets his fingers up around the Soldier’s cheek, digging under the edge of the goggles. The Soldier grabs at his wrist and Steve digs his fingers in harder. The Soldier pushes Steve’s hand away. The goggles and mask pull away with it. Steve drops the mask and gasps.

“Bucky?” He’s absolutely dumbfounded. The fight leaves him, as sudden as cutting the strings on a marionette. This can’t be possible. This is his hormone-addled brain playing tricks on him, making him see his dead mate on the face of a HYDRA assassin.

“Who the hell is Bucky?” the Soldier asks, and it’s his voice, too. 

Steve freezes. This can’t be real, but it is, but it _can’t_ be. He barely registers as the Soldier—Bucky?—takes advantage of his bewilderment, reaching back to pull his hard cock out of the fly of his briefs. 

The static closes in on him as Bucky eases himself down onto his cock, hot and slick and so welcoming. He doesn’t try to fight it anymore.

Steve gives a low, possessive growl and grabs Bucky’s hips. He draws his hands up Bucky’s sides, pulling him close to his chest. Bucky allows himself to be guided; his alpha’s no longer fighting him, so he doesn’t have to fight him, either. Bucky doesn’t complain when the alpha rolls him over onto his back and grasps his legs, roughly maneuvering them around his waist, and lays into him, thrusting greedily. Steve thinks there might have been something else he was supposed to do, but it can wait. He has his omega back, open under him, desperate for his knot. He braces himself on one arm, reaching the other hand down to fondle Bucky’s clit while he thrusts into him. 

Bucky comes with a guttural cry, no need for words anymore. His alpha smells so familiar, but that’s of little importance. Only that he _has_ an alpha attending to his needs, no longer fighting him. He knows he will be punished for going into heat in the field with this strange yet familiar alpha, away from his handlers, but he _needs_ it so badly. His mind is a tangle of frayed yarn and he tries to remember what he knows. He knows that he failed his mission. He knows that he will be punished for it. He knows that he will be punished for going into heat outside of the conditions set by his handlers. He knows that he needs this, needs to be taken by this alpha, needs to feel the release of the orgasm, needs to submit himself to his alpha. He knows he will be punished for choosing his own alpha. He knows he wants this alpha. He doesn’t know this alpha, but he _does_. Some part of him does. He knows that this alpha is worth whatever punishment he will receive.

He will come twice more, tied on his alpha’s knot, overwhelmed by the rush of pleasure and the overstimulation, before his heat slowly breaks. His alpha comes hard on the heels of his third orgasm, gasping and shuddering, burying himself as deep as he can, spilling into him. They spend the remainder of his heat tangled together on the hard floor, locked in their embrace as they sleep.

\-----------------------

Steve is vaguely aware of being lifted off the floor the next morning and being hustled into a S.H.I.E.L.D. van without his pants, a blanket wrapped around his waist. Bucky is loaded into another van in a similar condition, except with wrist and ankle cuffs as well as the blanket. 

“You’re gonna take good care of him, right?” Steve asks, a little blurrily, as if he were just shy of drunk. “He’s been through so much.”

“Don’t worry about him,” the agent helping him into the van answers. “You’ve got your own problems to think about now.”

“But you won’t hurt him? He’s Bucky. He’s not HYDRA. I don’t know what they did to him, but he’d never go willingly.”

“Not unless he tries to hurt us first.”

“He won’t. He won’t anymore. He’s in there, I know him. He’s _Bucky_.”

The van door slides shut and they’re on the road to S.H.I.E.L.D.’s New York offices to try to figure things out.

\-------------------

Three days later, Steve Rogers returns to S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters in Washington, DC to take responsibility for his actions.

At the same time, Bucky Barnes, also and formerly known as the Winter Soldier, escapes from S.H.I.E.L.D. custody and disappears into the wind.


	2. Chapter 2

Steve’s flipping casually through his mail as he nudges his apartment door shut with his foot. Pulling his phone bill out of the stack of junk mail, he drops the remainder of the pile onto the little table by the door and turns to lock the door behind him. An unfamiliar noise from his living room causes him to startle, twisting around to see if he can locate the source. There’s someone on his couch, laying down, knees slightly bent to fit. They’ve got their arm up in front of their face, but Steve immediately knows who it is.

“Bucky?” Steve asks, walking slowly into the living room. He drops the bill onto his coffee table and kneels down in front of the couch. “Bucky? Is it really you? You came back?”

Bucky grumbles sleepily and pushes himself up into a sitting position. “Yeah, it’s me. I know there’s been, uh, a pretty big change since you saw me last,” he says, gesturing at his stomach. He looks about ready to pop. “But yeah, it’s me, I came back. I’m myself again, mostly.”

“Yeah, that is a change,” Steve says. “Is, uh, is it…?”

“Yours?” Bucky finishes for him. “Yeah.”

“Oh,” Steve says, temporarily at a lack for words. Theoretically, he supposed he knew this was a possibility, but it hadn’t occurred to him that it was _actually_ possible. “Are you hungry? I was about to start cooking dinner. I can make enough for… all of us.”

“If you’re offering,” Bucky says with a quick grin.

“Any dietary restrictions?” Steve calls from the kitchen.

“As long as it’s food, I’ll eat it,” Bucky calls back. 

“You know what I meant; no sushi, no caffeine, stuff like that,” Steve retorts, popping his head out of the kitchen. “Wait, do you? Jeez, I’m being a terrible host. I haven’t even asked how you’ve been, where you’ve been living, anything.”

“Food first, questions later,” Bucky says, shifting a little to find a more comfortable sitting position and waving Steve back into the kitchen. “And I’m serious, I’ll eat anything. It’s not like I’ve had a lot of opportunities for sushi.”

“How’s vegetable lasagna? All I have to do it take it out of the freezer and pop it in the oven to reheat.”

“Perfect. Great. Any chance you could bring me a drink after you get it going?”

\---------

After a few minutes getting dinner started, Steve walks back to the living room with two ginger ales and a bowl of blueberries and sits down next to Bucky on the couch. He sets the blueberries down on the coffee table, toes his shoes off, stretches his legs, and takes a long sip of his drink.

“Any chance I could get you to do that for me, too?” Bucky asks, lifting one booted foot. “I mean, I _could_ do it myself, but it’s gotten pretty awkward this past month, month and a half.”

“Yeah, of course, sorry,” Steve says, immediately slipping off the couch to start untying Bucky’s boots. “Where have you been living? How have you been? Gosh, it’s been, what, eight and a half months since we, uh… how much do you remember from that day?”

“I’ve been as good as can be expected,” Bucky replies, giving a groan of pleasure as Steve manages to wrestle his boots off. He wiggles his toes. “I’ve been living here and there, moving around a lot. Started staying at various omegas’ shelters across the country when I started to show. Some were a lot better than others. The good ones though, they’re good people. Felt bad having to leave, but I didn’t like staying in one place for too long. Are they still looking for me?”

“I think so. Probably. I mean, they know who you are and what happened to you, so it’s probably just a formality by now.” Steve tucks Bucky’s boots under the coffee table and gets back up on the couch.

“‘Probably’? What do you mean ‘probably’? Don’t you _work_ for S.H.I.E.L.D.?” Bucky asks before grabbing some blueberries. “It’s a yes or no answer,” he adds through a mouthful of blueberry.

“I’m eight and a half months into a year-long suspension,” Steve shrugs and takes another drink of his ginger ale. “They let me back in the building for the mandatory counseling sessions, but I’m not super up to date on the current cases. I mean, Natasha tries to share news with me, but I won’t let her tell me anything that’ll get her in trouble.”

“ _Year_ -long suspension?” Bucky sputters. He grabs a tissue to clean the flecks of blueberry of the table before continuing in a calmer tone. “Did you get in trouble because of me?”

Steve shakes his head no, not quite meeting Bucky’s eyes.

“Don’t lie to me, Steve. The timing is awfully suspicious, considering all the facts. Year-long suspension? Mandatory counseling? Sure sounds like you got in trouble because of me.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Buck. I made a decision, it was the wrong decision, and I have to face the consequences,” Steve says gently but firmly.

“Y’know, my memories might be kind of fuzzy, but I seem to remember you trying to _stop_ me,” Bucky says, rubbing his stomach absently.

“Still, I knew it was possible that I _could_ go into rut, and I went in there anyway,” Steve counters.

“To save someone who didn’t have that option.”

“There were probably other options I could have taken, but I didn’t stop to consider any of them. Natasha tried to talk me out of it, and I wouldn’t listen to her.”

“You couldn’t have known it was me.”

“No offense, Buck, but you’re probably not the only omega I’m compatible with.”

“No, but we both know how rare Valdemar-negative compatibility is. You made what you thought was the right call.”

“I could have resisted if I’d tried, I know I could’ve. But I didn’t. I saw it was you and I stopped fighting because part of me didn’t care, part of me just wanted you back in whatever way possible. You weren’t able to consent to that; it was rape. Don’t tell me I don’t deserve the consequences. And besides? You’re pregnant. I did that to you without asking if it was what you wanted. We never talked about kids before, first because we weren’t sure if I even _could_ , and then because of the war. This shouldn’t have happened to you,” Steve said, gesturing more and more expressively as the conversation proceeds.

Bucky crosses his arms and wriggles a little deeper into the couch. “Well, that _is_ a big part of the reason I tracked you down. I would have thought by now I’d be getting at least _some_ of the nesting instinct, but it’s not happening. Maybe HYDRA scrubbed it out of me, maybe it didn’t kick in because I’ve been on the streets for so long, maybe I just never had it. Maybe it’ll kick in eventually, but ‘eventually’ isn’t good enough if it’s just me. Kid deserves better than ambivalent parenting. What I’m trying to say is, right now, I’m leaning pretty heavily towards adoption but this kid’s yours, too, and I wanted to give you a voice in the decision.”

“If I ask you to stay, will you?” Steve asks, reaching tentatively out to lay his hand on Bucky’s knee.

“How much trouble will you be in if I stay?” Bucky asks, putting his hand over Steve’s. “And are you asking me to stay so we can raise this kid together, or just stay in general?”

“Whatever you want. I want you back, and I think I’d like to at least talk about raising this kid with you. We’ve got, what, a couple more weeks? If, after we talk, you’re still pretty sure you don’t want to, we can look into adoption agencies together. It wouldn’t be fair to you or the kid,” Steve answers.

They’re both silent for a few moments before Steve speaks up again. “Would you consider an open adoption? As sort of a middle ground. You won’t have to raise a kid you don’t want to, but we can both still get updates on how they’re doing.

“Wouldn’t an open adoption would mean a huge publicity mess?” Bucky asks. “I mean, I’ve been pretty anonymous so far. What’s one more slightly scruffy omega giving up a baby for adoption? But if _you_ get involved, everyone’s gonna start asking questions. No matter how much trouble you’re in, you’re still a pretty big name.”

“Yeah, you’ve got a point,” Steve muses, “Open or not, S.H.I.E.L.D. might be our best resource for adoption. They’ve got their fingers in a lot of pies, and finding a home for a potentially enhanced baby with very famous and/or infamous parents probably falls within their jurisdiction.”

Bucky groans for real, throwing his head back against the back of the couch. “I hadn’t thought about that. Can the serum be passed on from parent to child. Ugh.”

“Would you be ok with me calling Natasha to run this by her? She could be our intermediary in bringing this to S.H.I.E.L.D.’s attention.” 

“Do you trust her?”

“Absolutely.”

“Alright. After dinner, you can call her.”

\--------------

Natasha arrives at Steve’s door holding a bottle of vodka. “You’re reimbursing me for this later, ok?”

“I do have alcohol in the house for guests, you know,” Steve says with a grin, welcoming her in.

“Yeah, but from what you told me over the phone? That calls for authentic, burn-your-throat-out old country vodka that you can only buy from those sketchy Russian delis with no signage,” Natasha replies, giving Steve a friendly elbow. “I doubt you keep that around.”

“That’s fair.”

Natasha heads straight to the living room and sits down on the couch next to Bucky. She sets the vodka down on the table and studies him. “So you’re Bucky.”

“Yeah, that’s one of my names,” Bucky replies, offering a hand to shake. He squints a little, looking at her more closely. “And I’m sorry I shot you. I’ll try not to do it again.”

“Alright, I’ll help,” Natasha declares. She uncaps the vodka, takes a long swig straight out of the bottle, and exhales sharply. “I’m gonna call Fury, tell him the pertinent details. He likes me, so if I ask him to go easy on you two, he might let me bring you in on my own and not send a whole tac team to storm this apartment. As soon as he sees the situation and can see that you’re not the Winter Soldier anymore, he should be able to clear a few things up. I know he’s got a reputation as a hardass, but he’s fair.”

“He is,” Steve agrees. He sits down on the couch on Bucky’s other side.

Bucky shrugs. “Ok by me. It’s not like I have many other options right now. Sure, yeah, first thing tomorrow morning, let’s go into S.H.I.E.L.D. and start taking care of this.”

“Just like that?” Natasha says, taken aback. “That was easier than I thought it’d be to convince you.”

“Well, ever since Steve decided to bring the phrase ‘potentially enhanced baby’ into this conversation, things have very quickly moved to yes, please, let the professionals intervene,” Bucky replies.

“Well get through this,” Steve says, taking Bucky’s hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Together.”

“Together,” Bucky echoes.

“This is getting too sugary for me,” Natasha laughs and takes another swig of her vodka. “I’m gonna call Fury now. You ready?”

“Ready as we’ll ever be,” Bucky answers. Steve smiles and nods his agreement.


End file.
